The Montrealer’s bright headlights made a white doughnut of light in the tunnel as the train pulled out of Penn Station, New York. By invitation, I was riding up front with Tony La Penna, the engineer from New York to New Haven, Connecticut. I had dreamed of this since childhood.

In early January, my mother and I went to her sister’s wedding in Washington and chose the Montrealer for the adventure. With the double-sleeper room the trip cost more than airfare, but hey, this could be our last chance. This train was scheduled for cancellation as of April 1.

When Mr. Fox, our cabin attendant, heard that I was a writer and wanted to at least take some pictures of our train for a story, he sent Assistant Conductor Noel Powell to make the arrangements. Powell radioed his friend, Lenny, our engineer from Washington to New York.

“How fast can you be ready?” Powell asked.

“I’m ready now.”

“I’ll knock on the door when we get close to Baltimore and you follow me to the baggage car. When we stop, you run forward and take your pictures. But be fast, we don’t stop for long.”

No problem! The knock came and clutching my camera to my chest, I followed Powell into the baggage car. As the train slowed, he opened the huge sliding door. I jumped, ran down the ramp onto the gravel separating the two tracks and shot my photos. Lenny came out of his perch and waved.

Powell and I dashed back into the baggage car, he slammed the door and the train was off.

At New York we stopped for 20 minutes. I went looking for Lenny, but the crew had changed. Instead, I found two other men in the cab: Clarence Baker doing equipment safety checks, and Tony La Penna, the engineer from New York to New Haven. I told them what I was doing. “You want to ride up front?” Tony asked.

Does snow fall?

“It’s two hours worth.”

With me settled into the left seat, Clarence finished his checks and gone, Tony at the controls in the right seat, the signals given, we pulled out of New York.

As we rumbled through the long tunnel, Tony explained the walkways along the sides, to be used in case of emergencies. But the walkways were littered with stuff blocking any passage and the fire extinguishers looked as if they were planted there centuries ago, they were so layered with filth.

A whoosh of air bounced around us as our engine forged ahead. The echoing roar mixed with the sounds of the engine and the train itself, growing with our speed. We burst outside with a “whomp” into the early January night. Manhattan’s skyline from alongside the East River was a riot of Christmas lights. The bridges and buildings were decked with greens, golds, blues and reds. The reflections in the river echoed the spectacular colors.

As we headed through South Bronx, Tony told me to shut the window, turn off the interior lights and stay low. The train is a frequent rifle target. (Now he tells me…) The evidence of smashed bottles and glass alongside the tracks is mute testimony to past attacks.

Throughout our journey a constant alarm would start, honk, HONK, HONK growing in intensity. The slower the train, the slower the alarm; the faster the train, the faster the alarm; it’s almost constant. Tony showed me the “Alerter,” an alarm designed to stop the train if the engineer doesn’t respond within a few seconds—a “dead man’s brake.” As we spoke, Tony smacked a large red button to silence the racket. After a few moments of blissful quiet, the blasted honking started again. Tony would whack the big button once more. Honk, HONK, HONK, WHACK. Honk, HONK, HONK, WHACK. At times there was even a rhythm to the cycle.

As we slipped through Port Chester, we passed a square factory building along the edge of the river. “See that building? That’s the old Lifesaver factory. It had huge Lifesaver ‘rolls’ upright between the windows and you could smell Lifesavers for miles around. Oh, it brings back memories.” Tony smiled. Honk, HONK, HONK, he whacked the alerter again. “When the building sold, the rolls were sent to the Smithsonian.”

Safely through New York state, we lurched over switches and pulled into Connecticut, Metro North country. Here in contrast, the tracks are clean and well maintained, with plenty of gleaming equipment in evidence. Years ago, Amtrak and Conrail split into “tiny groups” run by smaller management. Metro North is one such group. As they have one of the most heavily traveled routes in the country, with commuters from New York to Boston, they are very well maintained.

As we neared Trenton Tony asked if I wanted anything, tea? Coffee? Tea sounded fine to me. Tony radioed something and when the train stopped Tony bolted. Moments later he returned bearing hot tea and all the fixings. Now, we’re talking! Tea, Tony and rumbling through Connecticut.

When I took this trip in early January, the Montrealer had been scheduled for cancellation as of April 1. The latest news is that it will be run as a day train as far as St. Albans for one trial year. Senator Jim Jeffords has been pushing for a day train for some time. Governor Howard Dean has been fighting for the Montrealer, negotiating with Amtrak from the beginning to keep “our” train running.

Ken Connelly from Sen. Jefford’s office said, “Figures our office obtained from Amtrak show that if the eastern route stopped in St. Albans, or was run from Springfield, Massachusetts to St. Albans, the train would be one of the most cost-effective routes running in the entire country; and requiring the least subsidy.”

The new train will be run as a day train as far as St. Albans, no sleepers, with a change in food service, and an increase in fares of $5.00. Since the Canadian connection was the most expensive part of the trip, eliminating it makes sense. (Now the Canadians want to discuss this...)

For the next year, at least, train service through Vermont is still here.

As for my ride? The men and women of Amtrak and especially Lenny, Noel, Tony, and Clarence were gentlemen in every sense of the word; they couldn’t have been kinder. And although I couldn’t see much of anything after New York’s brilliant light show, between the semi-lit junctions and the few stations we coasted through, the trip was still the stuff of dreams.